


'cause i could never hold a perfect thing and not demolish it

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Politics, Post-Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29100951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After the war, Percy can't help but wait for the next one.
Relationships: Ginny Weasley & Percy Weasley, Percy Weasley & Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	'cause i could never hold a perfect thing and not demolish it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitsunerei88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/gifts).



If Percy were the kind of person to blame other people for his bad decisions, he would have said it was all Minister Shacklebolt's fault.

He wasn't. Not any more, anyway; Percy had made a choice he'd thought was good and right, and another, and another, and told himself every step along the way that if it went wrong it wasn't his fault, not really. Maybe Fudge wasn't making particularly good choices, but Dumbledore had forced his hand, hadn't he, and surely Percy couldn't be expected to go along with his power-grab just to make his parents happy. Maybe Umbridge shouldn't have been in Hogwarts, but she might manage to pry Ron away from that liar Harry Potter, and wasn't that worth it? Maybe -

No more. Percy had walked to the end of that road, and his reward for the effort had been burying his younger brother. 

His choices were his own, now.

Still. Despite his determination to take the blame himself... it wouldn't be entirely inaccurate to say that Shacklebolt had kicked off this entire series of events, either.

_"I'm worried about Parkinson."_

In the wake of You-Know-Who's destruction, the Ministry had undergone a frankly astounding shake-up. The first and biggest set of changes had been when the remaining loyal Aurors weeded out Death Eaters and collaborators alike with a thoroughness that had astounded Percy, given what he'd heard about the aftermath of the last war. He had thought, after that, that things might quiet; oh, there might be a few more arrests here and there if any of You-Know-Who's supporters had been clever enough to keep quiet about their loyalties even when the Ministry was seemingly under the Death Eaters' control, but surely nothing to that scale. Who else was there left to go?

Quite a few people, as it turned out. Some had refused to return to their positions even after the laws that had led to their unfair dismissal had been abolished. Others had stayed precisely long enough to get their departments re-established and then resigned, citing ill health or exhaustion or simply a lack of desire to stay in the building where they'd been terrorised into compliance. And Percy wouldn't bet on them being the last to do it, either; he'd seen enough people in the Ministry at odd hours, working themselves past the point of exhaustion or hiding away from the part of the day when the offices were full of people and noise. He knew what drove them, and he doubted the impetus would last long.

They still dreamed, that was the problem. Percy had been like them once: he'd entered the Ministry an idealist, holding a shining hope before him. He'd wanted to make things better. Oh, true, he'd had his own ambitions too - he'd wanted _so badly_ to be someone other than _that Muggle-lover Weasley's son_ \- but was that a crime? It had fuelled him, driven him on when the thought of another moment dragging himself through stacks of tedious reports had been too much to bear.

Fudge, and the Death Eaters, had worn that hope out. All that Percy had left was stubbornness, stubbornness and a determination to make up for what he'd done, and that would be enough to take him through the darkest moments. He knew; he'd lived them.

For someone who still hoped for better, though? It wouldn't be enough. Couldn't be. Change would never come as fast as they'd hope, so sooner or later their dreams would die out. They'd find themselves staring out into a building they'd lived their worst nightmares in, surrounded by people who could never understand what they'd been through, and ask themselves why they'd bothered to stay so long.

And so another round of new employees would come to the Ministry, stumbling into their older colleagues' sore points, looking at the grand architecture with fresh eyes that had never seen it stained with blood. Percy did his best to be optimistic about them - they, at least, might have the opportunity to perform the kind of genuine public service he'd once thought he was going to - but he couldn't help but wonder. How long until their naïveté led another round of his old colleagues to pack their bags? How long until that innocence was tainted by corruption?

How long, on a more practical note, until any of them knew how to do their Merlin-damned jobs?

For the sake of his own sanity, Percy did his best to keep himself away from the less competent of his new co-workers. It wasn't entirely possible - some of them, unfortunately, worked alongside him in the Minister's office - but he'd learned while the Death Eaters were in charge how to look busier than he actually was, so it hadn't been hard to sweep along the corridors with arms full of parchment or tuck himself away in his private office to get his work done in peace and quiet.

In the long run, it probably wasn't a good idea. Even in his position networking was a good idea, and he ought to give his newer co-workers an opportunity to demonstrate competence so he could work out who he ought to try to get promoted... but it could wait, surely. Percy could give them a few months to settle in and actually _develop_ competence.

Today, however, mingling was going to be forced upon him. Shacklebolt had asked him to track down a particular Ministry employee, and so here he was: at one of the Ministry's little post-work mixers, designed to help all the new employees get to know one another.

It wasn't the first time Percy had shown up to one of these parties. He'd never been particularly good at networking, but he could understand its importance, and it was useful for someone senior from the Minister's office to show up on occasion. Shacklebolt himself was a little too old to fit into the crowd here, but Percy, technically speaking, wasn't.

He certainly _felt_ too old. But that wasn't a new sensation, so he was used to ignoring it.

Today, however, Percy had a more important task in mind than mingling. It wasn't something he particularly wanted to do, but -

It was still better than anything Fudge had ever asked of him.

Somewhere in the midst of this heaving crowd was Pansy Parkinson, and it was Percy's job - if he could manage it - to befriend her.

The Parkinson family, like many others with ties to You-Know-Who, had seen their fortunes fall rather dramatically in the wake of his demise. They hadn't done as badly as some, as none of them had formally sworn themselves to You-Know-Who, but they'd offered enough material aid to have gotten themselves in hot water post-war. And that, of course, had been worsened by Pansy Parkinson's actions at the Battle of Hogwarts.

The Wizengamot, eager for blood, had called Parkinson and many of her fellow students up to face trial. But their apparent determination to send as many children to Azkaban as possible had been ruined by an unexpected opponent.

To this day, Percy still wasn't sure what had been going through Potter's mind. Given his testimony at Narcissa Malfoy's trial, it was perhaps understandable that he would have sought to have her and her son's sentences reduced. Given that many of the other children who'd been called to trial - Slytherins, for the most part, with a smattering of children from other Houses who had known Death Eater relatives - hadn't even had the opportunity to fight on either side of the battle, that was understandable too; why put a permanent mark on someone's record simply because they _might_ have fought against him?

But _Parkinson?_

Percy hadn't attended her trial. He'd had better things to do, frankly. But he'd read about it in the _Prophet_ the next morning. Parkinson had wept on the stand, apparently. Spilled out some sob story about how she'd been so _frightened_ , she'd heard the Dark Lord say he'd kill them all and she'd known he was telling the truth because it wasn't like the Carrows had hesitated, was it, and there were little children there, and she hadn't _wanted_ to turn Potter in but what other choice had she had?

The Wizengamot might not have swallowed it. They might have raised reasonable objections - surely she hadn't thought the teachers wouldn't evacuate the younger children? Except that then Harry Potter had spoken in her defence.

He hadn't said he'd believed her - had, in fact, said he wasn't sure whether she was telling the truth or not. But Potter _had_ said that he thought her excuses were reasonable, that it was understandable that she'd be too scared to fight back against Voldemort. That it wasn't fair to convict her of trying to give him up, which wasn't even technically a crime, when he'd been only too willing to go.

Parkinson had gotten off.

And, in the aftermath of her unexpected exoneration, the lingering remnants of the blood purity movement had coalesced around her. Parkinson had publicly refused the support of anyone known to support You-Know-Who, which had cut out the most powerful blood purists left in Britain, but there _were_ others. People who had perhaps thought that the Death Eaters had the right idea, but who hadn't been willing to ally themselves with murderers, or who hadn't had the kind of wealth or power that would have made them high-value targets for recruitment.

And now... now, given the opportunity to be the face of a movement that a worryingly large number of British witches and wizards agreed with despite the recent war, Parkinson had managed to get herself elected to the Wizengamot. It was only supposed to be a short-term position, ensuring the Wizengamot had enough members to function until the next round of formal elections, but if she managed to maintain her popularity until then there was a very real possibility she could end up holding a real seat. And then what? Would she start advocating blood purist positions for real, rather than the mealy-mouthed platitudes about Maintaining Our Cultural Heritage that were all Parkinson had dared until now? How long would it take for would-be Death Eaters to start using her as the thin edge of the wedge - or for her to turn out to be far less moderate than she claimed to be?

Percy hadn't buried his brother to let the Death Eaters just waltz back into power.

He didn't like what Shacklebolt had asked him to do. To Shacklebolt's credit, Percy was fairly sure he hadn't liked asking it either. But it was a moot point. They both knew that Parkinson was a problem, and would very likely become a _worse_ problem, and someone needed to do something about her. Someone trustworthy, and discreet, and experienced with the dirtier side of politics.

If there was one thing working under Fudge had given Percy, it was experience with bribes, blackmail, and mud-slinging. He hadn't liked it - had, in fact, wondered queasily if this was what he'd joined the Ministry for, if saving Britain from Dumbledore's paranoid delusions was worth dirtying his hands this far, if there wasn't a way to do it that was kinder and gentler and more honourable - and knowing that he wouldn't be called on to repeat that experience was one of the reasons he'd stayed on after Shacklebolt came into power.

Had Percy been a different kind of man, he might have walked out. Resigned, or challenged Shacklebolt's idea, or perhaps magnanimously offered to ignore the Minister's brief temptation to dabble in the mud, provided it was truly only a temptation. Instead he'd sat there and nodded and offered suggestions. Gone home and stared himself in the mirror and wondered if this was really what he had to do, if the price of peace would always be that someone had to get their hands dirty. 

Better him than someone else, he'd supposed. Better by far that as few people as possible should sully themselves like this. But Merlin, he was tired of it being his job.

He could see Parkinson off in the distance. Time, Percy decided, to get a bit closer.

She wasn't the centre of attention. Not the way Harry would have been. But people were certainly paying attention to her, flicking glances in her direction as if hoping she'd look back - and Percy had to admit that Parkinson was handling it far better than Harry would have. In a crowd like this he would have been, at best, ill at ease. Parkinson seemed to be taking it as her due, though. She smiled, and made small talk, and somehow managed to keep track of three conversations at once. Nobody seemed to walk away from a conversation with her disappointed. For that matter, none of them seemed upset to have see her in the first place, which frankly was more than Percy thought she deserved, under the circumstances.

Percy had understood Minister Shacklebolt's concerns, of course. But this - seeing Parkinson here playing to the crowd as though she were an experienced politician rather than a child barely out of Hogwarts - it just made the matter that much more urgent. Percy couldn't afford to assume it was safe to ignore her.

For that matter... Percy sipped his drink, considering the situation. Some people were gifted with charisma without the brains to match it. If they were lucky, Parkinson would turn out to be one of them, and Percy would be able to trick her into telling him who was really backing her. If they _weren't_ , she'd probably know exactly why he was here, and would do her best to keep her real motives concealed and any convenient scandals hidden.

Maybe it would be better not to approach her straight out. Maybe he should see if he could sidle up to her and suggest they went somewhere private; there was bound to be a piece of legislation he could pretend to be lobbying her on.

Parkinson noticed him as soon as he approached, and greeted him no differently than the dozen others Percy had watched her interact with. This time, though, she extricated herself from the crowd after a few minutes, murmuring that she needed some air, and disappeared into a back corridor. Percy followed a few minutes behind, keeping his scowl firmly off his face.

She was definitely too clever to be fooled by some legislative cover story. That would make things a great deal more difficult.

When Percy caught up with her, Parkinson had already installed herself into a little side room and layered the walls with charms against eavesdropping. She glanced up from her nails as he entered, brows raised.

"To what do I owe the honour, Undersecretary Weasley?"

"I'm glad to hear you describe it as an honour," Percy said. "Given the, ah, bad blood between our families in the past."

Parkinson gave him a surprisingly genuine-looking smile. "You mean, back when I was a stupid kid who liked picking fights with your brother and his friends? We aren't at Hogwarts any longer, Weasley. It's long since past time I grew up. I'd say the same to them if I could, but I rather doubt they'd want to risk running into Potter's crowds of unruly admirers just to talk to me - and I can't blame them."

"I'm glad to hear it." Not that Percy thought she was telling the truth. Something about her expression and her tone of voice gave him a feeling that - not that it was all rehearsed, perhaps, but that she'd taught herself to seem personable. _Too_ personable. The perfect politician, someone who every voter might think was their best friend and wholly on their side.

Percy did not particularly like the feeling.

"Really, though," Parkinson went on, dropping the smile in favour of an intent, thoughtful expression, "why did you want to talk to me? I don't think I've seen you at one of these parties recently, and you - well, maybe I'm wrong, but it seemed like you were walking straight for me."

That had to be exaggeration. Percy knew he hadn't been as obvious as all that. But someone might have seen him watching her, he supposed, and tipped her off. He hadn't thought it was worth going to that level of misdirection, not when it seemed as though everyone in the room was paying attention to her anyway.

Or - given that Parkinson was clearly cleverer than he and Shacklebolt had been hoping - perhaps it was simpler than that. Perhaps she'd realised that sooner or later Dumbledore's old crowd would want to know what her game was, and she'd simply waited to see who would approach her first.

"Curiosity," he said with a shrug. "I was wondering what everyone was doing over there. And, once I'd worked that out, wondering why they were all talking to you. I hadn't realised you were quite so popular."

"Well, I've always been good at networking," Parkinson said. "There are so many other new people at the Ministry these days who aren't, it's left me feeling like I ought to help them out."

"Which will, of course, not benefit you at all."

Parkinson smiled impishly. "What kind of a politician would I be if I were utterly selfless? It's not as though I plan to ask them for favours, Weasley. I just think it's a good idea to make friends - and if one of those friends ends up becoming Minister someday, well, so be it."

"You must admit, though, it's a little... attention-getting," Percy said, choosing his words with care. "Given your history."

"Is this a warning?" Parkinson asked. "I have to admit, I'd expected one of your lot to try to push me out sooner - but I suppose you are all publicly committed to the democratic process, aren't you?"

"You're sounding awfully disdainful for someone who's picked up the dregs of You-Know-Who's supporters," Percy noted. "How long do you think the Wizengamot would have lasted under his reign? A year, perhaps? I suppose most of his followers must have thought he'd hand the seats over to them, but I doubt it. Why would a tyrant want to give his subjects a voice, after all?"

Parkinson narrowed her eyes. "Did you miss the part where I disavowed him?"

"Of course not. That doesn't mean you were telling the truth. It's not as though you were under Veritaserum at the time."

She snarled wordlessly. "So that's it, then. Anyone who wasn't on _your_ side is against you, forever - except that's not even true! You were in the Ministry then, everyone knows it, but the Minister's perfectly happy to trust you. Why is that? Because of your blood, perhaps?"

"Because I proved it," Percy said, biting back angry words. He was not going to give this - this _stranger_ , this blood purist pretending virtue, any more knowledge about himself than he had to. Her guess about where his blood had taken him might be truer than she knew, but he didn't have to admit it.

"Then you should let other people prove it too! Do you have any -" Parkinson turned away, hands in fists at her side, face flushed red. "Fuck you."

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

She was quiet for a long moment, long enough for Percy to pull himself back from the edge of an anger he didn't want to feel. What was he even doing here? This had been a failure. He ought to leave. Go into Shacklebolt's office tomorrow and confess that he'd screwed it all up, so the Minister could work out what they were going to do next.

"I would do," Parkinson said quietly, not looking at him, "a great deal worse than this to know that nobody will ever be tortured at Hogwarts again."

Percy stopped, forgetting entirely what he'd been about to say. Because -

"I beg your pardon," he said, and winced internally. Too formal. Well, at least his voice hadn't shaken. "Am I understanding you correctly that -"

"That I am _not_ a follower of our so-called Dark Lord?" Parkinson turned to face him. There was something wild and frightening and terribly familiar in those dark eyes. "Why would I be? How could _anybody_ be, after - You don't know what it was like. I see it in their faces here, sometimes, the same thing I see in everyone who survived Hogwarts, so I suppose it can't have been too different, but _you_ \- And it's not the same. It couldn't possibly be, because at least you could have walked away, you -" She broke off, hands coming up to cover her face.

Percy locked his hands behind his back. He stood, and breathed, and reminded himself that Parkinson wouldn't want comfort. Not from a stranger. 

Ginny had been there, at Hogwarts. She didn't talk much about it. Most of what she said were cheerful stories, heroic ones that were suitable for the dinner table - sneaking out to paint rebellious slogans around the castle, stealing potions ingredients from the Potions storeroom, organising the ghosts and Peeves to help create distractions when someone was in danger.

Percy wasn't enough of a fool to think that was all she'd done there, of course; there hadn't been much in the _Prophet_ about what had been going on at Hogwarts that last year, but he'd seen reports here and there at the Ministry, enough to have some idea of how bad it had been. Enough to know that it must have been worse, because you didn't get that kind of concerted silence out of children unless they'd collectively decided that the end result of telling their parents what had happened was worse than the difficulty involved in keeping the secret.

Ginny had probably told the nastier stories to _someone_. She wasn't stupid enough to think that keeping the whole thing locked up tight forever was a good idea, and it wasn't as though there weren't people who weren't their parents who she could have talked to. Ron, maybe. Granger. Probably not Harry, since he seemed to be determined to take as much responsibility for the outcome of the war on himself as possible, though given they'd apparently dated briefly maybe Percy was wrong.

Ginny would, of course, not have told _him_. Percy wouldn't have expected her to. They simply hadn't parted on good enough terms to have returned to the relationship they'd had when Ginny was small and she'd adored him, or the one they'd had after her first year at Hogwarts, when he'd pushed harder than anyone else had dared to and she'd told him horrors in a terrible, detached voice. Maybe they'd never have that relationship again, and it wasn't like Percy couldn't blame her, it wasn't like it wasn't all his fault -

But _Merlin_ , this conversation would have been easier if he'd had the faintest idea what Hogwarts under the Carrows had really been like.

"We couldn't have walked away," he said eventually. "Not after the first day, anyway. A lot of people - people who were smarter than me - just didn't come in to work the day after Scrimgeour died. Most of them got away with it, I think, though I know at least a few of them got dragged in on some made-up charges or other. But anyone who tried after that? It went a great deal worse for them."

" _Worse_ for them," Parkinson muttered. "How terrible."

"Azkaban is generally considered to be a terrible fate, it's true."

Parkinson paused, stiff-shouldered. Presumably she was thinking it through - because the end result of the Muggleborn Registration Commission _did_ end up in the _Prophet_ , so it wasn't as though Parkinson didn't know the Death Eaters had emptied Azkaban out of anyone they thought might follow them and filled the empty cells with innocents. She probably hadn't considered that they might have thrown in people who weren't Muggleborn, though. Perhaps she wouldn't even have been particularly worried about the Muggleborns; she'd said her concern was for the children who'd been trapped at Hogwarts, after all. Not anyone else.

"Of course," Percy went on, "some people didn't make it that far. They just... disappeared. I have to admit, it still surprises me that I wasn't one of them."

That got Parkinson to uncover her face and turn back towards him. Her eyes were dry, and that frightening wildness had faded from them, but - the familiar expression. That was still there.

"It hardly seems fair," she said, voice low and quiet. "Not that I wanted them to realise how much I hated them, of course, but... people died. There are children hiding scars that won't ever heal. And I have, what? Guilt because I didn't throw myself between them and the curses? What the fuck is the point of that?"

"Well," Percy said. "The point of it could be to remind us to do better next time. If, of course, that's what you're planning to do."

Parkinson raised a brow. "What do you _think_ I'm doing?"

"Frankly? I have absolutely no idea."

"Ha." Parkinson was silent for a moment. "Do you want to know, really?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you wouldn't like the answer, I suppose."

"That's no reason not to ask." Percy watched her for a moment. "Does this mean you're changing sides entirely?"

"My parents raised me to believe in it," she said, staring down at her hands folded in front of her. "That's not so easy to let go of. So if what you're asking is whether I plan to chime in on Granger's side the next time she starts shouting about Muggleborn rights - no, I don't. Though I suppose if someone had asked me that a year or two ago I could hardly have imagined myself radicalised this far, so who knows? Maybe I'll surprise myself."

"What _are_ you planning on, then?"

Parkinson shrugged. "Honestly? I have no idea. Just - I have to do _something_. I can't stand by. Not again."

"And your power base of choice is the people you claim to oppose." Percy couldn't keep the scepticism out of his voice, though he was sure Parkinson would have an explanation at the ready.

She shot him an irritated glance. "And who else was I supposed to ask? It's not like any of _your_ lot would have supported me, whether or not Potter had given that little speech. I suppose that means my political career will be short-lived once I make it obvious enough where my real loyalties lie, but so be it. There are worse things."

Something teased at the edge of Percy's mind, something dancing between intuition and certainty. He bit his lip as he hunted it down. Something about Harry - the speech -

"Did you ask him? Harry, I mean. To help you."

Parkinson blinked. "You think he would have listened to _me?_ "

Percy could feel heat creeping up his cheeks, but he kept going doggedly anyway. It'd made sense when he'd thought it, Merlin damn it. "Harry's very invested in ensuring our world goes back to normal, and that people aren't punished for things they had no choice in. No matter his feelings towards you, I can't imagine he would have ignored you if you'd asked him to help ensure the war could never repeat itself."

He wasn't entirely sure it was just Harry's idea. Not that there was any way he _could_ be sure - it wasn't as though Percy could have asked, and they weren't telling - but the three of them had seemed more joined at the hip than ever since the war had ended, and Granger in particular had spent a great deal of time poring through Muggle history books and muttering dire things under her breath about reparations and resentment. The entire thing had the feeling of wishful thinking to Percy.

"Maybe you're right," Parkinson said on a sigh. "He does seem... rather committed to the cause of getting us forgiveness. A great deal more so than I would have expected, given how badly most of us got on with him at school."

"He found the war as upsetting as any of us, I suppose."

"Maybe. To be honest, I didn't expect him to do it. Not that - I knew it was a _possibility_ , obviously, given he'd already spoken at more than a few trials, but all of them so far had been people he hadn't actually had a run-in with during the war, or people who'd actually done something to help him, like Draco. I thought he'd probably skip me, given the circumstances. Perhaps I wouldn't have argued my own case so vehemently if I'd known what he was going to do, but..." Parkinson shrugged. "I suppose it must have helped. I can't imagine anyone found me terribly convincing - people do love uncomplicated narratives, and mine becomes a great deal simpler if the listener assumes I was lying."

"I suppose it does."

She smirked at him, brief and faint. "And I suppose I can't blame you for doing it. I have other people to talk to tonight, Weasley, but - think about it. All right?"

Percy felt as though he were stumbling through the rest of the evening.

He couldn't leave, not immediately; it'd invite questions, and it might make Parkinson think she'd rattled him. Percy couldn't have that, not even if he found himself wondering if the rattling was mutual. Had she meant it? Or -

She could be lying, that was the problem. She could be manipulating him. She could have been standing by the Carrows' side the whole time, casting curses at their command. It wasn't like Percy had any way of knowing. He'd been in London, far away from her, and it wasn't as though anyone who had would be likely to volunteer the information.

Unless he asked.

The thought of it sat sour in Percy's stomach. That just wasn't the way things worked: nobody talked about what they'd been through, because who wanted to relive that? Nobody asked, because why would you make someone else do the thing you dreaded? But he couldn't see a way around it. He needed better information than he had, and how else was he supposed to get it? Hope that the Carrows had filed honest reports about their activities at Hogwarts, presuming they'd filed anything at all?

There were people here, people at this Ministry mixer, who'd been at Hogwarts that last year. Percy hadn't gone to any particular trouble to identify them when they'd started at the Ministry. He hadn't had to. They were the ones who hadn't made thoughtless remarks about that year, the ones who didn't flinch back in horror when someone mentioned offhandedly what it'd been like.

They'd been kind enough not to ask questions. What right did Percy have to pry into their pasts?

There were other choices. Or, rather, there was _one_ other choice. One person Percy might dare to ask, who might agree to tell him, if he could get the nerve up and she didn't hex him for asking and she didn't insist on keeping her silence the way the rest of them were. If, if, if -

Percy left his dress robes crumpled on the floor instead of hanging them up, and curled up in bed, and hoped against hope the single Firewhiskey he'd allowed himself at the mixer would be enough to get him to sleep. Merlin knew, with thoughts like this dancing around his brain, it'd be a long night otherwise.

The Burrow was relatively quiet when Percy dropped in during his lunch break the next day. It was rather a relief. He did appreciate being on good terms with his family again - well, some of them, at least - but the last thing he wanted was for Mum to try to pull him into a conversation when he only had an hour free, or to wonder what he was doing there.

Ginny was there, though, according to the clock, and so was Ron. He didn't seem to be visible - perhaps he was out in the garden, or up in his room? - so Percy headed up the stairs, pleased his conversation with Ginny wasn't going to be interrupted.

Her door was closed. The _Boys Keep Out_ sign Ginny had made when she was seven wasn't hanging on the knob, though, so Percy knocked. Hopefully the sign's absence meant she didn't mind being interrupted and not that she'd finally decided to toss it.

"What?"

"I, ah -" Before Percy could decide how to introduce himself, the door swung open. "Shall I consider myself invited in?"

"Percy? I - oh, fine. Are you actually looking for me, or do you just want to know where Mum is?"

"I was actually wondering if I could talk to you," Percy said, stepping inside and glancing around. He honestly wasn't sure when he'd last been inside Ginny's room - how old had she been when she'd decided boys weren't allowed in? - but it hadn't changed as much as he'd thought it would. More Holyhead Harpies posters, less stuffed toys and dog-eared Harry Potter books... but the patchwork duvet cover was the same, and he could still see the edge of the dent in the floor where she'd dropped something heavy and dragged her bookcase over the top to cover it up.

"I'm a little busy," Ginny said. She didn't turn from her desk, which was covered in... books? It didn't seem likely; Ginny was a diligent enough student during school terms, but she'd always had better things to do than studying ahead during the summer holiday. Maybe they were quidditch magazines - but they looked a little bulky for that.

"I can come back later if that'd make it easier." As long as 'later' didn't turn out to be 'never', anyway. He and Ginny hadn't spoken much lately. These days, most of their conversations consisted of one of them asking the other to pass the salt at the dinner table. "I promise you I wouldn't be bothering you if it weren't important."

Ginny made an irritated sound under her breath. "Oh, fine, come in. But this had better not take too long."

"Thank you. I, ah... it's about my work at the Ministry, actually. I have to work with Parkinson," Percy said, keeping his voice as light as possible. Irritation was allowable; giving away what he was really doing was not. "I thought maybe I should try to work out how much of that little speech of hers at the Wizengamot was actually accurate. It can't have _all_ been nonsense, after all, or someone would have spilled the beans by now."

"I don't know why you'd think I'd have any idea," Ginny said, not glancing up from the books in front of her. "It's not like we were in the same year. I barely know her."

"No," Percy said. "But I - it's not as though I know any of the others in your little rebellion particularly well, and I had the impression some of your comrades are... very polite. Probably too much so to give me any useful information, or to be willing to tell me they don't want to talk to me. At least if I poke a sore point I can trust you to tell me to bugger off."

Ginny looked up at that, lips twitching. "Now, Percy. What would our brothers say if they heard you say something like that?"

"Oh, I'm sure they'd refuse to believe I'd said it at all." Percy dropped onto her bed, sneaking a glance at Ginny's books as he did. "You're studying? What for?"

She stilled, one hand white-knuckled around her quill, and then sighed. "Rumour has it McGonagall's planning on making us all do the year over unless we can prove we're ready to go on. It's not - it's not _unreasonable_ , it's not like any of us were worrying about grades or exams last year, but I just want to be done with it. The less time I have to spend in Hogwarts, the better."

"Oh. I'm, ah, sorry to hear that."

A bitter smile slid across Ginny's face, there and gone so fast Percy almost wasn't sure he'd seen it. "Me too. But I can't change that, so... I guess I'll just get my NEWTs and go. Not that I have any idea what I'm going to do, either."

"You wanted to join the Harpies once," Percy said, then paused. "Well, you did when you were ten, anyway. I suppose your priorities might have changed since then."

"It's a nice idea," Ginny said, propping her chin on one hand. "But it feels a little... trivial, after all that. You know? I could go into the Ministry and try to make sure nothing like this ever happens again, the way you and Hermione are -"

"Ginny," Percy said, taking her by the shoulders and gently turning her to face him. Ginny blinked at him, but didn't object. "I am telling you this because I'm your brother and I love you - do _not_ join the Ministry. Not right now, anyway. It's full of idiots who don't have any idea what they're doing and who won't listen to the people who _do_. You'll end up hexing someone out of sheer frustration and they'll fire you, and then where will you be?"

"My temper's not _that_ bad."

Percy raised a brow.

"All right, maybe it is," Ginny said, sticking her tongue out. "But I can't just give up on doing the right thing because it might go wrong, Percy. That's just..."

"Fair enough," Percy said. "But that doesn't mean you have to give up on doing something with your life that you'd actually be happy with. There's other paths - you could volunteer, maybe, or join one of the citizen's working groups Minister Shacklebolt is planning on setting up, or - anything, really. You don't have to resign yourself to sitting in an office. I really don't think you'd be happy there, Ginny."

"Mmm." Ginny turned in her chair, not meeting his eyes. "So, what was it you needed to know about Parkinson?"

Once, Percy might have jumped on that obvious deflection. Now... was it fear of rejection or political experience that was stopping him? He couldn't have said, but it was enough to still his tongue anyway. "Mostly, how plausible you find her story. I suppose she must have been collaborating to a certain extent, or she never would have ended up on trial in the first place, but - how much? Was she just nodding along to what they were saying, or actually helping the Carrows?"

Ginny frowned, twirling her quill between her fingers. "Well, she wasn't one of the ones we were really worried about - that was Crabbe and Goyle, they liked the - uh, what the Carrows were up to enough that they got special treatment for it, everyone knew to keep out of their way -"

"I'd noticed Harry didn't ask for clemency for Goyle," Percy said.

"No." Ginny ducked her head, hair falling over her face. "Honestly, I don't remember a whole lot about what Parkinson got up to - she usually hung out with the crowd of Slytherins the Carrows liked, but that might not mean anything. I'm pretty sure some of them only got in because they were purebloods from old families, you know? And if Parkinson were really as scared shitless as she keeps telling everyone, it would've made sense to try to spend time with people the Carrows thought had the right idea. Not particularly brave, but I suppose she doesn't care about that."

"No. I suppose not."

"Honestly, you'd be better off speaking to someone who was actually in the same classes as her," Ginny said. "That's where all the really important stuff happened anyway. I could write Neville, if you like?"

"If you think he might have useful information," Percy said slowly. "Though I don't want him to feel as though I'm pressuring him to talk about a sensitive topic -"

"Don't worry," Ginny said, smirking. "Neville won't hesitate to tell _me_ to bugger off, even if he still remembers your time as a prefect too well to say it to you. He _is_ the one you're worried about, right?"

"Well, yes." Percy hesitated. Longbottom would be a much better source than Ginny would, and he did need the information, but - "I don't want to put you to any trouble. You have more than enough to be getting on with, after all, what with your studies."

Ginny waved his concerns away. "It's fine. We've all kept in pretty close contact since we left Hogwarts - and this is important. Isn't it? I mean, someone like Parkinson getting into the Ministry..."

Percy did not wince. He also didn't stiffen, or blush, or do anything more obvious than press his fingers a little harder into his thighs. Here was one advantage to having spent so long away from his family - and Merlin, wasn't that something he never would have imagined he'd think: none of them knew the new nervous tics he'd forced himself to adopt while the Death Eaters were in charge of the Ministry. Ginny would expect a blatant reaction. She didn't know how dangerous those reactions would have been during the war.

"Look, obviously I can't comment on anything sensitive like that - oh, don't pull that face," Percy said, frowning at Ginny. "If the Minister were found to have a bias against a popular Pureblood politician, or alternately if he were suspected to not be concerned enough about potential Death Eater sentiment in the government, it'd most likely end in his resignation. We cannot afford that, not so soon after the war. So... speaking as a civil servant, no comment. Speaking as me? Yes, I am obviously very concerned about Parkinson gaining any kind of political power, and I need to know how concerned I ought to be."

"I'll write him," Ginny said with a nod. "Even if he doesn't know much about her himself, he'll know who would - he had piles of notes about who'd had run-ins with who that Luna helped him charm-lock, so he'd know when he had to get people to hide or tell them to keep their heads down for the moment. If Parkinson got caught up in anything dramatic, he'll know who with."

"Thanks, Ginny."

Percy couldn't quite bring himself to leave. He ought to - who was he to prevent Ginny achieving academic success? - but he'd missed this. He and Ginny had both been so much younger the last time they'd really sat down and talked. And what they'd talked about - he couldn't have said it'd been a less mature topic, not given everything Ginny had been through that year, but they'd both been less mature people. They'd been worried about what had happened in the past, not what might happen next.

"I wish you hadn't gone off with the Ministry back then," Ginny said abruptly. "I mean - I can see why now, sort of, and I can see why you wouldn't have come back even if you'd thought you should, not after everything we all said - but I hated hating you. It made everything just... worse."

"I know." After a moment, Percy added, "You know, when I was in the Ministry last year, someone accused me of being a spy. He said the whole fight was just my cover, so nobody would realise what I was up to. And - well, at the time, all I could do was laugh and hope nobody believed him, because if the Death Eaters did I was done for - but I wished it was true. At least then I would've been doing something useful, not just... sitting around trying to work out how much I could get away with while I waited for them to drag me off."

Ginny - much to Percy's surprise - shot him a commiserating glance. "I _know_. The whole time at Hogwarts, I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it's not like we were doing anything that actually helped with the war. Just... holding out. Trying to keep everyone together and hoping we weren't lying when we said Harry was going to win. And now - it hardly even seems like it mattered, some days. We won this war, but what about the next one?"

"Maybe we'll be lucky this time," Percy said.

"Yeah. Maybe." Ginny sighed. "Hermione thinks we had this war because so many of the Death Eaters got away with it last time, so they had years to build up money and power. If they'd all been in Azkaban, maybe Voldemort still would've broken them out, but the war would've gone differently, and it might've taken longer for things to go really bad. She's worried this time we're going to go too far the other direction - crack down hard on anyone who's even only a little bit connected to the Death Eaters and make them resentful and angry and willing to fight again to get what they think they deserve. And - I can see why she's worried, but I just don't get why it's our problem. Why can't they just become better people? You know, stop hating Muggleborns and deal with the fact that they hurt people and they've got to pay for that, and... ugh." She slumped back in her chair, rubbing her face.

"Unfortunately," Percy said, "real life isn't usually that simple. There's always going to be one complication or another."

"I know. It'd just be nice if I could believe that once Harry beat Voldemort things would go back to the way I thought they were when I was a kid. The good guys win, the bad guys either see the error of their ways or just vanish into the night never to reappear... It was nice, believing that."

"Yes," Percy said, sighing deeply. "It was."

For a few moments, they were both silent, and Percy found himself reminded again of their childhood. The Weasleys were, by and large, loud people - they were always talking, joking, arguing, playing pranks - and Percy had felt sometimes like he spent all his time searching for somewhere he could go where he could enjoy some peace and quiet for more than a minute. Ginny could be loud too, but she'd always been happy enough to curl up beside him with a novel or a doll or one of Ron's comics.

He'd missed that.

"I should leave you to study," Percy said, standing. "I imagine you've got quite a lot still to go through."

"Merlin, yes." Ginny scowled at her books. "I could drop out. Mum didn't kill Fr- I mean, she was all right with it. Sort of."

"I was under the impression they'd immediately moved out of home," Percy said, and instantly wondered if he should have. They didn't talk about Fred. That was the unspoken rule in the Weasley house. Maybe he should have just let the conversation die like they usually did when he came up, rather than just trying to move on.

"That might be a problem," Ginny said. "I suppose I could get Harry to give me the keys to his godfather's house, but then he'd probably think I was hinting he ought to move in there, and I'd rather he stayed here if he's happier... ugh. No, I suppose you're right. I have to get back to studying. You're coming to dinner on Saturday, right?"

Percy shook his head. "The Ministry Ball is on that night, remember? I don't know if Dad's going - I know he never used to, but they might not let him wriggle out any more -"

"If you hear he's come down with dragon pox, don't get too worried, he's probably just faking it to get out of politics," Ginny said, grinning.

"I'd expect no less. I do actually have to go, though, so I won't be able to make it until next week."

"I'll Floo you or come round your flat if Neville says anything interesting, then," Ginny said.

"Right, then. I'll see you - oh." Percy paused, hand on the doorframe. "Do you want my notes? To help you study, I mean."

"You - oh, of _course_ you've still got all your old notes, I can't believe I didn't think to ask you. That would be incredibly helpful."

"I don't have all of them," Percy said, lips twitching. "I'll have you know I got rid of the ones from first year. There wasn't enough useful information in there to be worth keeping."

Ginny threw her head back and laughed, loud and strong, and it struck Percy that he hadn't heard that sound in a long time. "If you say so, Percy."

"I'll drop them off once I've dug them out of storage," he promised, and headed down the stairs, still smiling. Coming from one of the others, that disbelief might have stung; coming from Ginny, it just reminded Percy how much closer they'd been once. Maybe it wasn't too late to fix things.

And she was right, anyway. He'd copied the most useful parts out of his first-year notes before he'd thrown them away.

The next Wizengamot session was on a Thursday, and Percy attended it.

Technically, doing so fell within his job description. The duties of the Minister's Undersecretary were wide-ranging and poorly defined; it wasn't unreasonable for Percy to attend the Wizengamot in order to report on its doings to the Minister when Shacklebolt was unable to attend himself. It wasn't something Percy had spent a great deal of time doing, but he _could_. He could even take along a stack of non-sensitive parchmentwork to fill in the quiet periods.

There wasn't anything particularly interesting on the docket today. Routine work, like the traditional Acknowledgement of the Sovereignty of Hogwarts - delivered with a little more fervency than usual, after Umbridge and the Carrows - and the accompanying Wizengamot's Donation to Hogwarts. It was funny how that kind of terminology could build up; the Donation must always be referred to as such, because 'funding' would imply that the Ministry held greater sway over Hogwarts than the school was willing to give them, but looked at with any kind of rationality the Donation was anything but. Donations could be cancelled or withheld, after all, and any Minister who attempted to cancel the Donation would find himself in a political disaster in short order. It simply wasn't done.

Percy tried not to listen too hard to the formalities. He'd just give himself a headache out of sheer frustration. A few of the newer members kept raising points of order in what Percy assumed was an attempt to appear cleverer than they really were; half the rest were attempting to insert archaic and clearly unfamiliar terms into their speech at every possible opportunity, and tripping over their own tongues as a consequence. 

Percy had thought, back when he'd first joined the Ministry, that the Wizengamot was hopelessly disorganised. There was merit to the idea of a democratic assembly, of course; it was important that any changes to the law were properly debated on, and that people from all walks of life had the opportunity to voice their opinions. But it'd moved so damn _slowly_ sometimes. And that wasn't even bringing up irritations like certain members' tendency to delay voting on legislation they disliked rather than simply trying to vote it down, or repeatedly re-introducing laws that already _had_ been voted down, or half a dozen other little problems.

In hindsight, that Wizengamot seemed like a model of democratic effectiveness.

They'd get to that stage someday - or so Percy kept telling himself. Perhaps a few of them would end up deciding that being a Wizengamot member wasn't as exciting as they'd hoped, and their resignations would free up space for someone more competent.

Granger, maybe. Percy had hoped for a little while that she'd go into politics after she'd finished her education, since she was clearly both competent and passionate; having spent more time with her in the meantime, he now also remembered that she could be extremely thorough, and that as a result she would probably go through the legal code with a fine-toothed comb and generate mountains of legislation she thought ought to be repealed or amended. Her membership would probably not speed up the Wizengamot from its current snail's pace, as pleasant as it might be to have someone in attendance who had a genuine passion for good government.

She couldn't be alone in wanting to make their world a better place, though; just because Percy had spent his formative years shepherding who'd been more interested in creating noise and chaos didn't mean they'd all been like that, after all. And Granger was an excellent example of the fact that not everyone had been ground down quite so far by the war as Percy had. She dreamed of making the world a better place. Her only obstacle, so far as Percy could tell, was deciding how to go about it.

On the far side of the chamber, Parkinson stood. Percy did his best not to pay any particular attention to her. Still, her voice filtered in, clear and calm, as she read the parchment before her. It wasn't anything particularly interesting - more Hogwarts business, traditionally read by the most recent graduate in the chamber, as they were considered to have the strongest current connection to the school - but it still held his attention. She wasn't stumbling over her words, or trying to inject artificial grandeur into the formulaic speech, or -

Would Parkinson be a benefit to the Wizengamot, were she telling the truth about her motives? The question hardly merited asking. She seemed to have grasped what she was doing far faster than the others had. Come to think - Percy flipped through the folders of parchment in front of him, and after a moment found the recent Wizengamot legislation. Parkinson had made her mark in a hundred little places. Here, a query that had led a bill's language to be tightened up and thereby improved; there, a suggestion that had made it into law. Percy was fairly sure she'd made more of an impact on the Wizengamot's proceedings than any of her similarly-new brethren.

And, of course, there wasn't anything there that Percy could point at and suggest she'd done the wrong thing. She'd expanded the reach of a law intended to compensate the victims of the war. Reduced the circumstances under which it was permissible for the Ministry to interfere at Hogwarts, and helped repeal several old Educational Decrees that had left the Ministry some convenient loopholes. Percy might have been able to make something of the new restrictions on Muggle-baiting - the language wasn't as vague as some bills he'd seen, but it could certainly be twisted if the wrong person were in power and lead to fairly innocent interactions being considered 'interference' - except that Parkinson hadn't taken lead on that one. _That_ had been a coalition Percy would probably describe as being made up of people on 'his side'. Parkinson had just voted for it, and kept silent otherwise.

If she were telling the truth... 

Could they afford to have Parkinson in office, even if she were really as opposed to the Death Eaters as she claimed? She'd said herself that she didn't particularly care about Muggleborn rights. And, while some of Percy's colleagues might scoff at the idea, he himself was fully in agreement with Minister Shacklebolt that it was only by improving the situation of Muggleborns in their society that they'd prevent another war. Lift them up - teach the next generation of Pureblood children that there wasn't a difference and never had been - and, bit by bit, stamp out the prejudice that'd led to so much misery. That was the sort of long view they had to take if they wanted to fix things for good; there was only so much that new laws banning hate speech or Muggle-baiting could do, after all. And if they wanted to fix things permanently, they'd need to stack the Wizengamot. Shacklebolt couldn't count on being popular and in office forever, after all.

Percy didn't like the idea of deliberately filling the Wizengamot with their allies. The entire _point_ of democracy was that elections ought to be free and fair and unimpeded. If they were planning to subvert that fairness - well, what did that make them?

And yet... was it reasonable to quibble about fairness when the Minister had been a tyrant's puppet so little time ago? Surely it was their duty as civil servants to ensure Magical Britain couldn't fall to the same dangers again. Even if it meant cheating to deny You-Know-Who's followers their rightful ability to vote blood purists into the Wizengamot.

Parkinson could be helpful, if she chose to. If Percy could convince her that protecting Britain from You-Know-Who was worth abandoning her stated aim to defend magical culture - whatever _that_ was supposed to mean. Percy had asked a few of his classmates at Hogwarts, and had never gotten a better answer than some mumbling about how Muggle technology was bad, probably, followed by a hasty exit.

If she was clever enough to have set all this up, perhaps Parkinson was rational enough she could be persuaded to rethink her politics on a broader level. And from there, if she could keep the blood purists on her side while she advocated pro-Muggle policies... how long could they keep it up? How far could they go? Far enough to leave the war nothing but a grim chapter in the history books, so unlike the years that followed it that it almost didn't seem real?

It almost hurt to think of. It would almost make all their suffering worth it, to be able to reach out and change the course of history, to prevent Merlin only knew what kind of wars and disasters that might follow this one -

Percy laid his quill down, smoothing the crumpled barbs back down with his fingers. Somewhere on the other side of the chamber someone was speaking haltingly, tripping over unfamiliar words, and Percy let it filter through his mind like the drone of summer insects.

Perhaps Parkinson would be persuadable, or would choose to help them for reasons of her own. There was no way of knowing just yet. Until he did, there was no point getting all excited. Hadn't he learned already it was better to keep his expectations realistic and avoid disappointment? The idea that Parkinson might throw over her own ambitions to serve his certainly wasn't realistic, at all.

No. Like anything in politics, this would be a matter of compromise: his desires and hers set against one another until they could sort out something that wouldn't disappoint either of them _too_ badly. Which meant that Percy ought to devote more time to working out which of Shacklebolt's pet projects she might be persuaded to help with, and which parts could be sacrificed when she inevitably objected to them, and how to neuter the objectionable parts of whatever she wanted passed in return without upsetting her. The boring part of politics, in other words.

Percy allowed himself one last wistful thought about Parkinson being well and truly on his side, and then bent his head back to his parchment. When her voice rang out across the chamber again, he did not look up.

Staring across the Atrium, floor cleared to make room for the attendees of the annual Ministry Ball, Percy couldn't help but wonder why he'd ever thought attending this was something desirable.

His father had, as usual, come down with a conveniently-timed illness that simply couldn't be cured before the end of the Ball. He'd done the same as far back as Percy could recall. Percy had thought he'd been embarrassed by his shabby dress robes when he'd been a child, and had felt rather scornful about it; just because worn-out fabric wouldn't hold magic well didn't mean he couldn't have charmed them into something fancier for a few hours, and anyway it wasn't like his father wasn't clever enough to have gotten a better job if he'd really wanted to.

These days, of course, Percy knew better. There were more complex forces behind his father's stalled career than the fact that he rather enjoyed his job... and just because getting an invite to the Ministry Ball as the head of his department was a sign of prestige didn't mean the Ball itself was at all enjoyable to attend.

At least this year he wouldn't spend half the night meeting various wealthy wizards' factotums in back rooms to accept Fudge's bribe money for the year. That had been a rather disillusioning discovery, the first time he'd attended as a part of the Minister's office.

... Perhaps he'd get to set the Aurors on someone who hadn't been clever enough to work out that Minister Shacklebolt wasn't interested in taking bribes. That might make attending worth it all on its own.

To be completely fair to the Ministry, so far this year the Ball had been rather better than it'd been in the past. It was normally an exclusive event; the only Ministry employees invited were department heads and anyone with more than a certain degree of personal power or wealth. The rest of the numbers were made up by the Wizengamot and anyone else Fudge had taken a shine to - that is, the wealthy and powerful _outside_ the Ministry, especially those he thought might offer either to donate to the Ministry or to himself.

This year, the entry restrictions had been relaxed, as had the space-expansion charms on the Atrium. Being here tonight felt almost like an ordinary day at work, albeit one with more networking and much less actual work being done. A number of people who'd fought at the Battle of Hogwarts had also been invited, though Percy wasn't sure how many of them were actually attending - Ginny certainly wasn't, having been 'infected' with the same thing as his father. Apparently, given the choice between struggling through esoteric Transfiguration theory and hobnobbing, she'd rather study. Percy couldn't blame her.

As happy as he was not to be caught up in Fudge's self-enrichment program this year, Percy had to admit it felt rather odd not to have a task during the Ball. He spent so much of his life caught up in one goal or another, each equally important - Shacklebolt would have a hard time doing anything without Percy keeping his office in order, but there wasn't any point keeping the office in order if they weren't forwarding their agenda to improve the magical world, and really was there any point in _that_ if there were pureblood supremacists infiltrating the Wizengamot to hinder their efforts, and, and -

What was he supposed to do with himself now, with no task at all?

Over in the far corner Percy caught sight of a dark bob, of a familiar woman's figure draped in gleaming silver dress robes. The crowd seemed a little thicker there. Perhaps they'd found someone charismatic to pay attention to.

Maybe he did have a job to do after all.

Percy reminded himself, as he took a champagne flute from a passing tray and set off across the room, that this was a bad idea. He didn't know if Parkinson was telling him the truth, or what her motives really were. He hadn't decided what to do about her. He hadn't even talked to Shacklebolt about her - which, no matter Shacklebolt's clear intent to keep out of it, he should have done as soon as he'd realised Parkinson was on to them. Approaching her again was a terrible idea.

"Undersecretary Weasley," she called as he approached, raising her glass at him. It must have been the same greeting she'd given everyone else, judging by the lack of surprise in her companions' faces, but -

There was something else, swiftly hidden, in her eyes. Curiosity. Surprise, perhaps. It made sense - Parkinson must have known as well as Percy did what a bad idea this was.

"Don't tell me you're here about the Bellwether bill again, Weasley? We _are_ at a party, you know."

The Bell- ah. Yes. One of the Hogwarts governors had applied for Ministry funding to repair the school, since at its current pace there would likely still be closed-off areas several years from now. Shacklebolt was trying to push it through quickly so they could start work before the beginning of the school year, but Parkinson and a few others had been holding it up in order to make amendments. It was a rather good excuse for them to be talking.

"You must admit, Miss Parkinson, that you're a hard woman to get an appointment with. And it's hardly as though I'm the only one here working."

"No, I suppose you aren't. But you are one of those I would have thought ought to know better - especially since you're trying to approach someone you know works every bit as hard as you do, and who might be expected to want a break from work every once in a while."

Percy was barely able to keep himself from rolling his eyes - as if she weren't working right now! "I have to admit that's not a feeling I'm familiar with, Miss Parkinson."

"I suppose not." Parkinson's mouth twitched. "Perhaps I can make some time for you - but later. I'm a little busy at present." Her eyes cut towards a side door, then back to his.

"If you insist." At a guess, she meant to meet Percy in a back room for the real discussion, then stage a talk about the Bellwether legislation in public later on. Perhaps it wouldn't even be staged - Percy couldn't see any reason Parkinson wouldn't _want_ Hogwarts to be repaired, which meant there must be some other reason she was delaying it. Perhaps he could hex two birds with one cast and get whatever was causing that particular problem sorted out tonight too. "In that case, I'll leave you to your break."

It took a tedious hour of circulating and small talk until Percy saw Parkinson slip off from her admirers. He followed, hoping she'd actually gone to meet with him and not to find a bathroom.

The back corridors were as quiet and empty as he might have hoped; all Percy could hear, apart from the tap of his shoes on the tiles, was the occasional murmur of noise from the Atrium coming through half-open doors. There weren't very many offices on this level, but if you knew where to look -

"There you are."

\- well, _someone_ had made sure there were out-of-the-way nooks scattered around the Atrium that people could hold private conversations in. Percy rather suspected that someone had, like him, wanted to be able to have private conversations with someone they couldn't be seen with publicly.

Parkinson was leaning against a wall, eyeing him with a fascinated expression. "I have to admit, I'd expected you to take a little more time to consider what I said."

Percy considered his response - briefly - and then decided to throw caution to the wind. "Oh, so did I. But - well, don't you feel some days like we've all wasted a rather ridiculous amount of time?"

"On the war? Certainly. But taking a few days to think one's politics over isn't a bad thing."

Percy propped himself up on the wall opposite her, eyebrows raised. "If you were in my place, do you think you'd end up spending _just_ a few days thinking?"

Parkinson visibly hesitated.

"I hope you see my dilemma," Percy went on. "It's not that I don't trust you - I'd rather like to - but..."

"You need proof, or the willingness to take a leap of faith." Parkinson paused. "Given your House affiliation, I'm rather surprised you aren't going for rash action."

"I have been in the Ministry for a few years now. Rashness can be tempered with time."

"I suppose." Parkinson eyed him. "What would it take, to prove to you I'm on your side?"

"Oh, no idea, really."

She snorted. "That's not particularly helpful.

"I know. But perhaps we could start with something a little more basic and work our way up? For example - what's your grand plan?" Percy asked.

"Sorry?"

"Well, you must have some kind of plan," Percy said. "Right? That's the Slytherin way - or, at least, what I'd understood to be the Slytherin way. Pick some grand ambitious target and then work out a cunning way to get to it."

Parkinson's lips twitched. "Ambitions don't have to be grand. Or, for that matter, well-planned-out."

"I suppose there's nothing I can say about the planning, given I'm not a Slytherin myself," Percy said. "But as for grandness - surely, to the person to whom the ambition belongs, it _would_ always be grand. Because it's what they desire. Does it really matter whether you want to achieve something as huge as ruling the world or as insignificant as, I don't know, building yourself a rather nice flower garden, as long as it's what you really want?"

"That's an interesting way to look at it," Parkinson said. "Though I'll note that it's not only Slytherins who have ambitions. It's quite a common trait, I think you'll find."

"But perhaps yours are better articulated than the average. Or better pursued."

"Maybe. How about this, Weasley - tell me yours and I'll tell you mine," Parkinson said, staring up into his eyes.

"Sorry?" Percy asked, unable to keep himself from staring back at her. It was only polite; she was very close to him, after all.

"There's a streak of Slytherin in you, even if you Sorted somewhere else in the end," she said. "What's your ambition, Percy Weasley? What drives you? What led you to the Ministry, and what kept you here?"

Percy licked his lips, and instantly regretted it. He'd thought he'd trained all his tells out. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Isn't mine, then?"

"Public service," Percy said. "I want to help people."

Parkinson stared up at him for one moment longer, and then turned away with a sniff. "Bullshit."

"I beg your pardon!"

"It's _an_ ambition," she said, glancing back towards him. "But it's not - how did you put it? - it's not what you desire. It's just a nice side-effect."

"You -" Percy gritted his teeth, and reined his temper. "You didn't specify what kind of ambition you wanted to hear about, Parkinson. I've told you mine -"

"Tell the truth," Parkinson said coolly, "and maybe I'll tell you what you really want to know. But until then, I've got better places to be."

At that point, the camera flashed.

They were, at the very least, not first-page news.

It wasn't much of a blessing, all things considered. Appearing together in an apparently-compromising position on the third page was more than early enough in the paper to create a decent scandal, even if the _Prophet_ hadn't deigned to put an entire article next to the photo. The paragraph of text they'd been given, buried in a column about Scandals of the Ministry Ball, was damaging enough.

Percy wanted, very badly, not to go in to work on Monday. He'd still do it, of course. He had a duty. But between the gossip he knew would be coming, the potential political scandal if anyone decided to harp on the apparent connection between a Weasley and a traditionalist, and whatever Shacklebolt had to say to him about his utter failure to keep his investigation into Parkinson's politics a secret...

Staying at home would be much, much more pleasant.

It wasn't a real option, though. So instead Percy's quiet weekend was going to turn into a planning session as he tried to work out what possible damage control he could do. He could release a statement - he probably ought to, in fact - but what on earth would he say? 'No, we weren't having an assignation, we were just discussing politics?' Some wouldn't believe it; some _would_ , and then there'd be questions about what they'd been discussing, exactly, and how inflammatory it was that they'd felt the need to hide in a corner to do it.

Which was ridiculous. That was how things were done, and everyone knew it - allies might be able to hole up in their homes or offices to have that kind of talk, but people who wanted to do back-channel talks, who didn't have any convenient excuses to spend time around one another, had always taken advantage of lively public events with quiet corners. There'd probably been half a dozen other quiet conversations going in other side rooms at the same time. Percy and Parkinson had just had the bad luck to be caught, and for there to be a plausible scandal available to spice up the article.

Ugh.

It was all Skeeter's fault, really. She'd had a good career as a muckraker, both on her own merits and using information that the Minister's office leaked to her, and after she'd left the _Prophet_ her replacements had attempted to follow in her footsteps. But none of them had her contacts or her nose for gossip, so they'd taken to... this. Taking perfectly legitimate activities and blowing them entirely out of proportion. It was enough to make Percy -

The doorbell rang.

Percy glared in its general direction. He did _not_ want to answer it - most likely he'd be greeted by one of his brothers wanting to know what the hell he was doing with Parkinson, as if a) the article was actually _true_ and b) it would be any of their business even if it was. If he kept ignoring the door, though, no doubt they'd come up with some creative way inside. Maybe just by annoying him until he opened the door. There wasn't really any way of telling, with them.

"Percy!" Ginny yelled. The sound was muffled, but not blocked, by the spells Percy had put up specifically to prevent sound from outside penetrating the walls. This presumably meant that the tw- that George had spent some time outside his flat at some point identifying and picking those spells apart in case he ever _needed_ to be unignorably obnoxious. Perhaps that was a good sign.

"Percy, let me _in_. I need to talk to you!"

He sighed, dropped his paperwork on the side table, and stalked to the front door. "I'm very busy!"

"I told the others I'd work out what was going on. If I go back without an answer, everyone's going to want to come talk to you."

Percy gritted his teeth. It was a good ploy; Ginny knew as well as he did that if his brothers really thought there was something interesting going on there was nothing either of them could have done to keep them from following her, which suggested they didn't actually believe the _Prophet_ 's insinuations. But if he sent Ginny away, they'd suspect a guilty conscience, at which point they'd descend on him to make his life a living hell until he confessed.

He jerked the door open, glaring down at Ginny. "Fine. Come in. But I wasn't joking about being busy - this whole disaster is going to have a serious impact on my job, and I need to plan for it. Though frankly I have no idea what I'm going to _do_."

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Ginny said, unhelpfully. "Can I ask about the, uh, 'disaster'?"

"Oh, I assumed that was why you'd come." Percy dropped back into his armchair, gesturing her towards the couch opposite. "The article's quite untrue."

Ginny shrugged. "It's the _Prophet_. I'd figured."

"Mum usually believes what they write," Percy said cautiously.

"Seeing the constant flow of articles lying about what Harry's up to, when she knows full well he's been hiding in Ron's room the whole time, took a bit of the shine off. Don't worry, she's not planning on coming around - or sending you a Howler -"

"Don't remind me," Percy said, wincing. That was one unpleasant consequence he hadn't even considered - and he knew Mum absolutely would have, if she'd really believed he'd been... canoodling with Pansy Parkinson more or less in public. "That's one thing that hasn't gone horribly wrong, I suppose."

"Honestly, Percy, how bad could it be?"

"Very bad. Probably in ways I haven't even imagined yet." Percy sighed. "Yes, all right, politicians have probably weathered greater storms than this before, but the crucial difference here is that I don't have that kind of capital, political or otherwise. I can't bribe people into ignoring what happened, or point out that I've given a decade of loyal service to the Ministry, so if someone decides to make it a problem there's very little I'd be able to do about it."

Ginny frowned at him, and opened her mouth, and bit her lip, and finally said, "Ron and I are friends with Harry. Wouldn't that..."

"I suppose. But that seems like a rather overpowered curse for this kind of situation." Not that Percy ever wanted to lean on that connection at all. He'd come to terms with the idea that his meteoric rise through the Ministry might not have been based on his own merits - oh, he'd worked hard, he'd gotten the best marks he could on his NEWTs, but in hindsight getting promoted to the Minister's office right when Fudge was starting to get worried about Harry and Dumbledore was suspicious - but he meant to stay where he was by demonstrating he was the best man for the job, not by nepotism.

"Better than getting fired," Ginny said.

"We'll see. Speaking of Harry -" since it seemed like a rather good time to change the topic - "What does he think about the article? I suppose he isn't very likely to believe it, but given his and Parkinson's history..."

"Honestly, I'm not sure he's actually seen the paper today," Ginny said, shrugging. "He and Hermione and Ron have been spending all their time in Ron's room with a pile of maps lately, taking turns to come down and get food. No idea what they're up to. I figure Mum knows, or she'd be panicking they're going to up and leave, but they haven't said anything to anyone else."

"Oh." Frankly, Percy wouldn't have blamed them for wanting to run off somewhere - the public eye must be rather difficult to deal with. Hopefully if they went the political fallout of the Boy Saviour disappearing wouldn't be too intense. Though... if he were to vanish sometime in the next day or so, it would certainly give everyone something to think about that had nothing to do with Percy...

"So, what was really going on, then?" Ginny asked. "And was the _Prophet_ entirely wrong, or just a bit? Was she flirting with you, or -"

Percy sighed. "No, Ginny. There is absolutely no truth to their suggestion that I was _in flagrante delicto_ with Parkinson. She... well, I can't tell you the details, since she gave them to me in confidence, but we'd been discussing politics, and where she's planning to take her nascent political career, and -"

"Wait," Ginny said, blinking. "She's not on our side, is she?"

"Ginny, I just said I can't talk about it - and I don't know why you'd think that, anyway -"

"Well, if she'd said she thought Voldemort was right and the Ministry ought to go back to jailing and murdering Muggleborns, you wouldn't be discussing politics with her, would you? Or bothering to keep her opinions a secret. Or asking me questions about how she acted at Hogwarts." Ginny raised both brows, expression unimpressed.

Percy scrubbed both hands over his face, cursing that he'd ever thought to ask Ginny for information. "Please don't tell anyone. This really can't get out."

"Don't worry. I won't wreck your clever plan, whatever it is." Ginny paused consideringly. "Or hers. She _has_ been playing up the whole 'traditionalist pureblood' thing, hasn't she?"

"I hadn't realised you paid that much attention to politics."

She shrugged. "Probably because the last time we were spending this much time together, I wasn't. Things change."

"Yes. I suppose they do." Percy slumped back in his chair, wishing he had something to drink - not that he could have done something like that in front of Ginny, of course. He didn't want to be a bad influence. "So, given you've worked out all my secrets - what do you think about her?"

Ginny pulled her feet up onto the armchair, resting her chin on her knees. "I... I mean, on the one hand, I can see how that whole mess at Hogwarts might have convinced her that the Death Eaters were full of shit. On the other hand, she could think they're full of shit and not suited to run a school or a government and still think their original ideas were good, so... really, it comes down to working out how much of the truth she's telling, I guess. Oh - Neville wrote me back. He didn't have a ton to say about her, but I figure that's a good thing, since if he _did_ remember a lot that would've meant she'd been mixed up in the worst of it."

"But if she had, at least I'd know where she stands. As opposed to all this..." Percy waved a hand through the air, lost for words.

"The Battle was terrible," Ginny said, voice soft, "but at least all the Death Eaters had nice identifying masks on. We just had to point and hex. It was a lot easier than this mess we're stuck with now."

"It really was." Percy sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "I wish Shacklebolt hadn't asked me to do this. Or that she'd been obviously evil enough I could just sabotage her and move on."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," Ginny said, "since I'm pretty sure you weren't supposed to. But it's not like this is urgent, right? She's already in the Wizengamot. You're trying to solve the long-term problem of her maybe supporting the Death Eaters or destabilising the government or whatever, not the short-term problem of - I don't know - her secretly planning mass murder."

"I suppose. But I'd like it to be over with."

"Worst comes to worst, go back to Shacklebolt and tell him you can't do it," Ginny said. "It's not like you're the only person he can boss around."

"None of them have any idea what they're doing, remember? I shudder to think what a mess they'd make. No, I'll just have to keep going." Percy grimaced.

"I'd better leave you to your panic-planning, then," Ginny said, standing. "Unless you want me to come up with a different scandal to distract everyone?"

Percy frowned at her. "Mum would kill you if you pushed Harry into something like that."

"I do know more people than just him, Percy, really. But I'll take that as a no. Just... let me know if that changes, all right?"

Percy couldn't help but feel uneasy as Ginny sashayed out the door. What on earth could she have thought would be enough of a distraction to take everyone's minds off his overblown scandal?

It was probably better not to know, for much the same reasons that Percy had kept himself carefully ignorant about Ginny's relationships. The world was a much nicer place sometimes if you stayed ignorant.

To Percy's relief, the fallout from the _Prophet_ 's photo was far less than he'd feared. One of his junior officemates had been close enough to Parkinson when he'd greeted her at the start of the evening to hear that they'd been planning to discuss the Bellwether bill, and so when he entered the Ministry on Monday morning the prevailing rumour was that he and Parkinson had been caught in the middle of a passionate _argument_. About finance, of all things.

As glad as Percy was not to have to deal with any political fallout from the episode, he couldn't help but feel a little insulted that so many people thought it was more likely he'd been arguing politics than having a secret affair. Surely they didn't think he was that boring? Parkinson might be an unlikely partner, true, but she wasn't unpleasant to look at - and she was rather clever, and politically astute to boot - and her commitment to her ideals was admirable, as little as he might like them -

It was a good thing. Really. For both of them. Percy doubted Parkinson's backers would have liked her getting entangled with a blood traitor, after all. And while he was sure she had some kind of contingency set up should she have to cut ties with her bloc suddenly, Percy would be rather surprised if they were ready to go this early in her career.

Still, if they were seen together the original story would be bound to start circulating again, so he kept his distance. It wasn't as though Percy had much he could say to Parkinson anyway, not unless she'd come up with some proof of loyalty he'd find convincing - and not unless she was actually willing to offer it. He had the feeling he'd offended her.

Which was ridiculous. What on earth had she expected him to say? That _was_ his ambition! Perhaps Parkinson had been expecting him to say something more concrete, like that he wanted to become Minister? But Percy wasn't convinced that would be a more accurate ambition than public service on its own had been, and if that hadn't been acceptable...

The whole thing was ridiculous. Percy did his best to put it out of his mind, burying himself in his work instead.

Parkinson's small, neat handwriting leaped out at him every time he had to review Wizengamot parchmentwork. Percy did his best to think of it as an opportunity to keep an eye on her politics via legislative amendments, rather than the distraction it really was.

Shacklebolt didn't ask him about his progress. Perhaps he'd forgotten the whole business, or thought better of it. With time, perhaps Percy would too. The whole matter could be nothing more than an unfortunate stain on an otherwise shining career. Forgettable and ignorable.

Percy had almost convinced himself of that when he ran into Parkinson again - in, of all places, the Ministry elevator.

"Weasley," a familiar voice murmured.

Percy glanced up from his parchments, mind still picking through their contents, and frowned at the sight of Parkinson. "Oh. Hello."

He didn't ask why she was talking to him now, though Percy wondered. Getting caught together had to have been worse for her reputation than his. Perhaps she didn't care, though that was atypical for a pureblood of her social station; they tended to care very much about the appearance of propriety, and cared even more if the impropriety in question involved someone of questionable blood purity. Blood traitors would certainly count.

The elevator stopped, and a few Aurors filed out. When the doors closed again, they were alone.

"Listen," Parkinson said, voice soft and urgent. "There's going to be an attack on the Wizengamot. I don't know much - my source is only tangentially involved - but it'll be small, one or two people at most, and soon."

"What -"

The doors slid open again, and a group of witches in Quidditch robes entered. Parkinson slid to the back of the elevator to make room for them. Percy cursed internally.

Parkinson got off at the Atrium, as Percy realised with a start that he'd missed his own floor. She brushed past him deliberately as she exited, close enough that nobody saw the parchment she pressed into his hand.

When he finally got back to his own office and spread it out, it said: _If my source is right, don't mention my name. We need these connections_.

Minister Shacklebolt was silent for a few long moments when Percy spilled the whole story to him.

"And you think she's telling the truth?" Shacklebolt asked, leaning forwards in his seat, his dark eyes fixed on Percy's. Percy felt pinned in place, like an insect to a board.

"How would I know?" he managed, and took a shaky breath. "I - perhaps you didn't notice, Minister, but I'm hardly known for my good judgement in this sort of situation. I have made mistakes - more than I ought to have been able to and still remain trusted by this administration, and yet I am _still here_ \- and why you're trusting me to determine what the hell Parkinson's up to I really have no idea."

"To be fair," Shacklebolt said, "when I asked you to do this, neither of us would have guessed there'd be any doubt about her motives. Sabotaging her political career might have been an unpleasant, morally dubious plan, but it wasn't a particularly complicated one, either. And... I realise this may not mean much, Percy, but I don't doubt you the way you seem to think I should. You certainly aren't the only person in our world who believes they made bad choices during the war. You aren't even the only person in this room who does. All you can do is keep going, and trust yourself to have learned from your mistakes."

"That's very helpful, Minister," Percy said, with sarcasm that surprised him, and which he probably shouldn't have been using against his boss. Too late now. "I'll certainly take it on board." He stood abruptly and strode to the door.

"Percy."

Percy stopped, hand on the doorknob, and sighed. "There's no point in distrusting the tip. If she's lying, we just look overzealous, and if she's telling the truth, it's a boost to the Aurors' reputation. Unless this is just intended to be a distraction, I suppose, but if there really were Death Eaters preparing for a serious attack I'd be surprised we hadn't heard anything about it yet."

"It's much harder to hide preparations for a large-scale attack than for a single radical," Shacklebolt agreed. "If I've overstepped, Percy -"

"It's fine," Percy said. "I have quite a lot of paperwork that needs attention, Minister, so unless you need me for anything else..."

"No. I should be fine. Thank you, Percy."

Percy spent the next few days in quiet agony. The waiting reminded him unpleasantly of the war; he slept badly, waking at the slightest noise, and snapped at his co-workers.

Soon, she'd said. But how soon? How long could the Aurors keep watch until some of them started getting sloppy, or until some other crisis pulled them away? How -

On the third day, the door to his office locked itself shortly before lunch, and a pleasant voice emanating from the ceiling informed him that the Ministry was under temporary lockdown until a security threat was resolved, and Percy almost collapsed from sheer relief.

It made quite a story, afterwards. The Wizengamot had been debating a controversial funding bill for Diagon businesses damaged in the war, and as a result there had been a few reporters in the gallery ready to write first-hand accounts and demand interviews and take photographs of the Aurors marching their prisoner away. The _Prophet_ put out a special evening edition; the Wireless ran Shacklebolt's speech in the aftermath, where he praised the Aurors and the Ministry's new emergency protocols and did not mention Parkinson's tip. Five minutes after Percy got home his mother Flooed and dragged him back to the Burrow in hysterics so he could explain half a dozen times that he'd never been in any danger at all.

George, who'd been avoiding him since the funeral, sat in the corner and stared at the _Prophet_. Ginny patted Mum's shoulder and exchanged grim looks with Percy. Ron gave him a cup of tea without so much as a muttered comment.

It would have been nicer to have if it hadn't all happened because they'd been afraid he'd been killed, but Percy would take what he could get.

He managed not to think too hard about it all until he'd made it back to his flat that night. It was dark and cool and quiet, nothing at all like the Burrow, and in the absence of their noise all his questions and doubts came rushing in.

Parkinson had told the truth.

This didn't mean she was trustworthy. Percy knew that. It'd be easy enough to set up - pick a volunteer to help get Parkinson set up as their inside agent, or even find a patsy, someone who was still radicalised enough to think attacking the Ministry was a good idea. Letting Parkinson into his confidence just because of this would be a bad idea.

But... if this wasn't enough to trust her, what would be? If Percy kept going down this path with her, wary and untrusting at every move - what if she'd been caught up in the attack, injured but not dead? Would he have asked himself afterwards whether that had been a setup too, whether the Death Eater had carefully calibrated that curse to make her injury as dramatic and dangerous-seeming as possible, whether it was all just one more way for her to worm her way into the Ministry?

How far was too far? How long could he keep telling himself there was nothing good in her before he drowned in his own hypocrisy?

And yet - Percy tipped his head against the wall, eyes screwed shut. And yet if he got this wrong, people could die. This wasn't like sending off people he knew didn't like each other on Prefect patrols together so they could learn to get along. This was real. People had died, and might die again, and it had been bad enough last time knowing he'd put his trust in people who'd wasted every moment they could have used to prepare for the coming war, bad enough knowing that in some small way he'd contributed to every evil it had brought -

Percy didn't think he could stand it if he trusted Parkinson and someone died as a result. That would be far more blood on his hands than he could bear.

But couldn't the same be true of distrust? If Parkinson had it in her to create some middle ground - some way of convincing the purebloods who'd grown up frightened enough of Muggles that they'd followed the party line when You-Know-Who arrived even if they disagreed with his methods - wasn't that worth the risk? Maybe trusting her would stop another war.

Maybe it would start one.

He _wanted_ to trust Parkinson, that was the problem. Percy wanted to believe that someone who'd done wrong could come back to the right side of things because - why? Because it'd make him feel better? Because then maybe he'd believe he could earn his own redemption someday?

Which was ridiculous, on the face of it. Percy had made mistakes - a lot of them - but he'd never tried to send someone to their death. He'd stood by while evil was committed, arguably, but at least he'd tried to mitigate it. He'd lost files and dropped crumbs of useful information around people he thought he remembered being friends of his father's, and gone home every night sick to his stomach waiting to be dragged out of his bed by Death Eaters who'd worked out what he was up to, and known as he lay awake that none of it could ever, ever be enough. That didn't put him on Parkinson's level. It didn't mean that choosing to trust her meant that he would somehow be redeemed.

And yet -

Percy had tried not to look at people's faces, when he'd gone to Hogwarts for the Battle. Part of it had been that he'd known he was running to his death, maybe, and he didn't want to see his murderer's face when they cursed him. Most of it had been that he'd glanced too long at one of the people fighting alongside him, long enough to register that awkward gangliness, the cheeks still rounded with the last vestiges of baby fat that hadn't quite melted away, and had realised with horror that he was looking at a child.

They'd all been children. Ron and Harry and Granger. Ginny, who'd come in when nobody was looking, who'd come so close to death when Lestrange spotted her. _Fred_ , Merlin, maybe he'd graduated but why did that mean anything when he'd only made it a month past his twentieth birthday -

None of them ever should have been caught up in this. None of them should have had to fight their parents' war over again. But if Percy was willing to say that of the children he'd liked, the ones who'd fought on his side and died or suffered lifelong curses for it, why couldn't he say the same for the rest? Maybe they hadn't been good people. Maybe if You-Know-Who hadn't come back they would have been equally terrible. But they'd been _children_ , and they deserved the chance to grow up.

Grow up, and choose again.

"So," Percy said, slumping against the doorframe to Parkinson's office, "what's the plan?"

Parkinson glanced up at him and paused, eyes widening. "You look like shit."

"I didn't sleep much last night." The thought of committing himself like this had been unsettling enough that Percy had decided just to go to bed and make the real decision in the morning. It hadn't worked; he'd spent the night staring up into the dark, mind circling around Parkinson and culpability and redemption and himself, over and over. Eventually he'd given up, brewed tea as black as he could stand it, and gone to the Ministry early in the hope that he'd find Parkinson in her Wizengamot office before the day's session was due to begin.

"You certainly don't look like you did. Sit down before you fall down, Weasley - unless you're worried about gossip?"

"There aren't very many people to notice us in the building this time of day," Percy said, stifling a yawn as he dropped into the chair in front of her desk. "Actually, I'm surprised to have found you. I'd honestly thought I'd have to wait until you arrived at a slightly more reasonable hour."

"I like the quiet," Parkinson said, shrugging. "Once there's more people here, I'll have to put up with more politicking, and being droned at by people who can't decide whether I'm evil or manipulable or a potential ally makes it rather hard to read through the upcoming legislation."

"Ah." Percy paused for a moment - but, well, it wasn't as though she weren't likely to have guessed, was it? "I hope I'm not creating a similar problem?"

Parkinson gazed at him for a long moment, before a smile curled her lips. "I'll grant you've been indecisive, Weasley. But you certainly don't drone. And I suspect you're here for a rather more important conversation than the ones I usually get trapped in."

"I certainly hope so."

"Hmm." Parkinson eyed him for a moment. "I'll be quite honest with you, Weasley. I don't have _a_ plan. I have a great many ideas, some of which may work and some of which probably won't. Perhaps you'll be able to help me refine them."

"Only if you're willing to trust me enough to show me what they are," Percy said.

Parkinson smiled, slow and toothy. "Why, Weasley. I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
